Basic Chemistry
It seems kind of pointless to type this, but I feel awful. Really really awful.
I'd say the pain from surgery is about 80% gone, but I actually feel worse than before they cut a clutch of growths from my abdomen.
You don't expect that. You figure the ick is gone, you've got to feel better. But no. Thing is, your body doesn't know what the hell just happened, but it knows something big has occurred, and the way it reacts to the screeching panic of WTF? is to flip every damn chemical switch its got. All together now.
I'm told it will eventually calm the freak down, and I will somehow stop jerking in agony like a labrat getting shock therapy. But it takes months for your body's chemistry to reset.
Months.
And meanwhile, yes, I will keep flailing out about in pain and terror, even in sleep, rather like a suffocating carp.
Hissy hasn't swayed one bit from guard duty. Although, she does give me the stink eye--and wails--when she's trying to goo into me and I won't be still for longer than 3.42 seconds.
Since I need to focus on something, other than whimpering and stuffing down screams, my current Gutenberg project, The Homesteaders, is at 75% complete.
At about 70%, the main character, who had been acting like a stupid ass from page one, but a *believable*--oh so highly irritating--ass, went to a belief obliterating 'too stupid to support life.' Apparently just to fit a plot forged in 'let's not even try to make sense land'. Sure, humans can do incredible things, many of them moronic. But they reason their way there. They had to do it. Somehow. Nobody acts because it was written that way. And badly.
The double whammy of ridiculously contrived plots and people that don't act like people, just to service said plot, is really giving me a nasty rash. My next Gutenberg project may have to be non-fiction, just so I don't start thinking about machetes and bonfires.
What a waste of carbon.
I'd say the pain from surgery is about 80% gone, but I actually feel worse than before they cut a clutch of growths from my abdomen.
You don't expect that. You figure the ick is gone, you've got to feel better. But no. Thing is, your body doesn't know what the hell just happened, but it knows something big has occurred, and the way it reacts to the screeching panic of WTF? is to flip every damn chemical switch its got. All together now.
I'm told it will eventually calm the freak down, and I will somehow stop jerking in agony like a labrat getting shock therapy. But it takes months for your body's chemistry to reset.
Months.
And meanwhile, yes, I will keep flailing out about in pain and terror, even in sleep, rather like a suffocating carp.
Hissy hasn't swayed one bit from guard duty. Although, she does give me the stink eye--and wails--when she's trying to goo into me and I won't be still for longer than 3.42 seconds.
Since I need to focus on something, other than whimpering and stuffing down screams, my current Gutenberg project, The Homesteaders, is at 75% complete.
At about 70%, the main character, who had been acting like a stupid ass from page one, but a *believable*--oh so highly irritating--ass, went to a belief obliterating 'too stupid to support life.' Apparently just to fit a plot forged in 'let's not even try to make sense land'. Sure, humans can do incredible things, many of them moronic. But they reason their way there. They had to do it. Somehow. Nobody acts because it was written that way. And badly.
The double whammy of ridiculously contrived plots and people that don't act like people, just to service said plot, is really giving me a nasty rash. My next Gutenberg project may have to be non-fiction, just so I don't start thinking about machetes and bonfires.
What a waste of carbon.
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